


The Colors on The Shore

by asexualcas



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, M/M, artist!castiel, deaf!Castiel, mechanic!Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-02
Updated: 2018-09-02
Packaged: 2019-07-06 03:03:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15877164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asexualcas/pseuds/asexualcas
Summary: Castiel frequents the docks of San Fransisco, painting the scenery around him. His art changes with the day but the  handsome green-eyed man is everywhere. The artist has a raging crush on the mechanic but there's just one problem: the man is Hearing.





	The Colors on The Shore

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I am Hearing. I have taken one semester of sign so far in college and tried to be as true to the Deaf community as I can, given that I am not part of it. If I missed anything glaring or got something seriously wrong, please tell me.

The first time he saw him, Castiel couldn’t deny he was gorgeous. Broad, tanned arms, a tattoo of a bird covering one toned shoulder, alluring bowlegs, freckled cheeks, and bright green eyes. When he threw his head back in a laugh, Castiel swore he could almost hear it. He couldn’t, of course, he was simply hearing a constructed memory of a male laugh, but when he painted the beautiful bow of his spine, he told himself he could still hear it.

The man made appearances in each of Castiel’s paintings from that first day forward. He could be seen climbing the rigging of old sailboats like he belonged there, fixing engines, scraping moss off hulls, shaking hands with the wealthy people who owned the boats he fixed; every situation Castiel saw him in, he painted.

The rare days he was absent made the docks feel less vibrant to Castiel. When he returned, even the waves against the small rocks seemed to welcome him back. Castiel frequently reprimanded himself - falling for the idea of someone without ever talking to them was juvenile. Even if that someone was beautiful, seemed universally adored, and always nodded a cordial farewell to him. He wished they could converse, but alas, fate was a cruel mistress: the beautiful green-eyed man was clearly hearing, and Castiel was Deaf.

\---

The July heat was oppressive and the man donned his signature flannel and jeans. If he could drag his concern away from his dripping paints, he would worry about the man dying of heat stroke. Castiel went with his favorite light, flowing crop top and bermudas. Every gust of sea breeze that touched his torso was a blessing. Now, if only it would make his paints stop running.

He gave up, huffing in frustration, after four hours. He stepped back to evaluate his work. To the untrained eye, there was perhaps something here, but a buyer would see the same runny mess that Castiel did. His surge of anger at the situation caused him to use more force than necessary when removing his headphones from his head - he had deadlines to meet and if this weather persisted, he would miss them by weeks.

He heaved a calming breath before turning to pack his belongings in the suitcase next to him. When he returned to his easel, he was greeted by bright, familiar green eyes looking at him in confusion. After recovering from the initial shock of his proximity, Castiel registered the man’s mouth moving as if he was speaking to him and his heart broke. Castiel braced himself for the pity as he motioned helplessly to his ears, assuming that, like most hearing people, the man didn’t know the sign for Deaf.

But the look of pity never came. Instead, the man’s eyes widened, his eyebrows drew up in surprise, and his mouth dropped to an ‘O’ shape. He held up his pointer finger - a sign Castiel had to remind himself meant “hold on” to hearing people - before reaching for his back pocket. His hand re-emerged moments later holding a cell phone. Castiel’s heart jumped in his chest as he typed a short message before handing the device to Castiel.

_ Sorry man, I didn’t know,  _ Castiel read.  _ I just wanted to tell you that you look really good today. _

He felt a pleasant warmth fill him, specifically his face, as he typed back.

_ It’s quite alright, I understand the headphones are misleading. I do it on purpose. And thank you. You look nice every day. Although, I admit, today I’ve been worried about you dying of heatstroke. _

Castiel gave the phone back and watched a light blush spread over the man’s freckled cheeks before he tipped his head back joivally, Adam’s apple bobbing. It took his breath away to see that laugh up close.

The man typed again for a moment before his head snapped in the direction of the boat he spent the day working on. He followed the man’s gaze to see a woman yelling. Context told him she wasn’t mad, but he otherwise didn’t know what was going on.

The man turned a remorseful look to Castiel before typing in his phone again.

_ I’m sorry, man, I gotta get back. Talk again soon? _

_ I would be delighted. Have a wonderful day :) _

The man gave him a small, shy smile before running back to his coworkers. Castiel’s joy over the brief conversation carried him through the rest of his day and showed in the bright colors smeared on the canvas.

It wasn’t until later that night he realized they never traded names.

\---

Three weeks passed before the two spoke again. Each day, Castiel hoped the man would approach him again, but their interactions remained non-verbal. Their smiles got warmer and Castiel allowed himself to wave rather than stare. But he craved interaction beyond the small moments.

He got his wish on a perfect painting day. He was deep in painting the details of rolling opaque waves when a broad hand settled on his bicep to get his attention. His eyes snapped up and he was met with a wide smile and now-familiar green eyes. The sight made his heart stutter, but it was nothing compared to the dance it did when the man raised his hands and started signing.

“My name is Dean. What’s yours?”

“Castiel,” he signed back quickly. “You-”

Dean cut him off, looking apologetic. “I only saw C-A-S. I’m new.” He looked embarrassed at the admission, but Castiel was endeared. “My brother has been dating this girl who signs and I asked her to teach me some basics.”

Dean’s hands were clumsy and his inexperience showed - he had started to sign “boyfriend” before shaking his head and uncertainty correcting it to “brother” - but that didn’t change the fact that he tried. Castiel was touched.

“Would you like me to spell it again?” he asked.

“Yes,” Dean replied bashfully. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re learning,” Castiel assured him. “It’s quite alright. My name is C. A. S. T. I. E. L.”

“Long name,” he remarked, after indicating his understanding. “Can I call you Cas?”

“I would love that, Dean.”   
Castiel was rewarded by a grin that rivaled all light and color he had worked with in his tenure as an artist.

\---

Dean adopted many nicknames for Cas over the years. The first still never failed to make him smile: Dean’s hand forming the sign for ‘B’, shaking in front of his eye - “blue eyes”. When questioned, he said that was the first trait he noticed; eyes so blue, he could see them from across the dock.

There had been dozens since they met, but Castiel’s favorite, after “Cas” of course, was a simple ‘X’ sign placed over his heart with Dean’s index finger. It began as a way to communicate their love for each other but evolved to a nickname once they got engaged. The nickname inspired Castiel’s first wedding anniversary gift to Dean; a painting of him, asleep, with his hand closed into a fist against his chest and his index finger crooked to form an ‘X’ over his heart.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm @asexualcas on tumblr - come say hi!


End file.
